Arsonist's Lullaby
by The Great Thief
Summary: Flames always comforted Adeline, the warmth reassuring her of something she didn't have. The flames were something that kept her safe and protected from people. Until she meets Sherlock Holmes.
1. The Psychologist

Water dripped on the window pane of Adeline's office, the water forming small webs on the glass. A loud sigh was emitted from the psychologist's throat, waiting for a patient who was late. _Again_. It was no use waiting more than an hour, the newest patient she had was irritable and forgetful to say the least. A woman with an addiction to alcohol that refused to be diagnosed or treated by real doctors.

Hopeless, like Adeline herself. But that's why she had taken her on. The psychologist's medium-pallor skin and dark clothes was in immediate contrast from the landline phone she picked up. Dialing the front office, her patience was starting to ware thin. "Front desk."

"Yes, Lillian could you please tell me if Mrs. Staunton is waiting for me?"

"Sorry love, looks like she decided to skip again."

"Please alert the court that she has skipped three mandated sessions in a row. I'm tired of being nice."

"Yes ma'am," The receptionist hung up and Adeline set down her phone, this was the last session. Now meaning she could clear up her notes and leave.

* * *

"Yes... that's her." The morgue is definitely freezing, only adding to the all around crappy mood that Adeline was in. Mrs. Staunton's face contained hives, warping it in such a way that made the old lady very unrecognizable. Purple and blue bruises " _Bees_." She looked up at the mousy pathologist across from her. It was clear that the woman hadn't done the autopsy yet. No stitches, no incisions. They had just found her.

"What?" The woman asked. Her voice was timid and shaky. "She had an allergy to bees. Yes there is obvious signs of struggle, but the hives... the hives and swelling had to have been from bees."

The door opened as Adeline returned to her normal standing position. "Molly." A baritone voice said. The pathologist smiled shyly. Great, a schoolgirl crush. Adeline turned on her heels, her eyes having to travel up a little bit to see the man's face. Calling him tall would've been an overstatement. Compared to his friend, he was almost a giant. Dark curly hair and pale cheekbones was the simplest way to describe him. His eyes were an odd mixture between green and an icy blue, adding to the over intellectual and superior air about him.

His friend, however, lead to some normalcy to the mix. The other man was a bit shorter than Adeline herself with blondish grey hair and a look that made him look like he could be kind and consoling one minute and possibly rip someone's head off the next. This made him military, most likely Afghanistan or Iraq. Both of their faces were familiar.

"Sherlock Holmes," and that's when the name was put to the face. He sounded a bit irritated as he stepped around her to study the body.

"She was allergic to bees." The imminent feeling of being looked over had taken over. "Self-evident." He replied. There was an awkward silence; Molly, John, and Adeline just standing in the morgue. She stalked over to the other side of the body, "And I gather you also managed to figure out that I'm her psychologist and she doesn't have any living family left?"

"I also deduced your past drug abuse that lead you to have such success at your job, making it easier for you to relate to your patients... but that's irrelevant. So if you excuse me, I have a corpse to get back to."

"Okay, um... sorry." John intervened. Adeline shook her head, the tremors of laughter on her breath. "That's brilliant. And if you're wondering why she has certain bruises on her skin, it's most likely because one of her neighbors had hit her the other day. Mrs. Staunton's skin was sensitive from both alcoholic tendencies and thrombocytopenia. She had a total of twelve people that legitimately hated her, after all she was very rowdy and rude. The woman was getting court mandated to see me. Drinking was her best friend but no one else was. Frankly she was a burden, the only person who cared for her was her son." Sherlock stared at her for a minute.

"I'm going to need a list of her contacts and people you think could have been involved." He was out the doors quicker than she thought possible.


	2. SH

Everyone knew about John Watson's

website, which meant it was easy for Adeline to get into contact with him.

 **Hello, John Watson. This is Adeline Vaux from the morgue. I realize that I didn't give you my name but I am now. Mr. Holmes had asked for a list of contacts and I was wondering if there was a more private way of sending him the list without having to go over in person? Thank you. -AV**

Adeline shut her laptop, centering it in the middle of the table. She lay her head down on the couch, glaring into the immaculate kitchen. Boredom was upon her. Opening the laptop again, she resorted to the only form of entertainment that kept her alive. _Netflix_. Now was the time that she watched twelve hours of Doctor Who non-stop.

Adeline peeled herself off of the dark couch. Her laptop still open, plugged into the wall. The time that she had been allowed for having to identify a patient in the morgue wasn't really paying off.

 _Buzz ._

Her phone began to buzz on the side table. "Shut up." The psychologist picked up her IPhone, sliding it open to find three new texts from an unknown number.

 **Contact list. Waiting.-SH**

 **Don't be boring.-SH**

 **Hurry up.-SH**

Sherlock Holmes. Adeline sighed before texting back.

 **No offense, but how the hell did you get my number?-AV**

 **Easy. Give me the contacts and I'll tell you.-SH**

 **I was going to give it to you anyways.-AV**

 **Added bonus. Now, the contacts.-SH**

The psychologist glared up at the sterile walls then back at her phone.

 **One second.-AV**

She got up, going to a filing cabinet that was a black contrast to the white walls. The file was on the top, a paper resting out ever so slightly. Adeline copied down the contacts and sent them to Sherlock.

 **Great. Simple, John told me that you had contacted him and I tracked down your IP address from your email. -SH**

 **Fabulous.-AV**

Adeline set down her phone, almost tempted to ask one last thing. The answer was most likely going to be no. _Maybe there's another way?_

 **I want to help you on the case. There's no saying no.-AV**

 **You'll only be getting in the way.-SH**

 **I said there's no saying no.-AV**

 **A/N- Hello, I would like to say that I am American as you can tell by the lack of british words. I will get things wrong and I would really appreciate it if you could point things like that out. Otherwise, please enjoy, review, and favorite. It would mean a lot to me. Thanks and have a good day/night!**

 **PS I am doing this on mobile and for some reason the page break isn't working. Thanks.**


	3. Symbolism

"Hello, you must be Adeline." The landlady invited her in.

"Um-"

"Sherlock was telling me that you were going to work on a case with him," Adeline nodded, heading up the stairs slowly. She wasn't exactly sure what to expect. The flat was a place that was often written about in a blog, and frankly, the writing made it seem underwhelming. Sherlock's flat smelled of cigarette ash and books. Something about that certain combination made it seem more welcoming than it might appear to be.

The Consulting Detective lay on the couch, his hands in prayer position. "Hello?" The psychologist knocked on the door frame, resigning to just walking in when there was no response.

"Pass me a pen will you?"

"Too lazy to get it yourself?" Still, his hand lwas out. Expectantly waiting. Adeline sighed, picking up the nearest writing utensil and legal pad. "Have you got a lead?" Again no response, Sherlock began drawing something.

"Do you recognize this symbol?"

 _Three prongs enclosed by a circle._ The familiarity was unsettling. Think, Adeline,think.

 **Author's Note- Hi, yes. Writer's block. Sorry I had to cut it short. If you like this story, please consider following it or sharing it with a friend. Thank you!**


	4. UGH

**_Ah, hello. I am sorry I have not come out with new chapters sooner. You see, migraines, writer's block, and a lack of confidence in my writing has stopped me from doing so sooner. -Vixen_**


	5. Blood Stems

She hadn't expected for them to be dead. No.. they shouldn't be dead. Adeline scrubbed furiously at the blood on her skin. Tears streaming down her face at an incredibly alarming rate. _No, no, no._ She didn't even remember shooting them. They had just appeared on the floor. A gun in her hands. Soap chipped beneath her fingertips as as she worked furiously, trying to get her mind off the brain stem that was drying up on her bedroom floor. Or the man with a bullet between his eyes. Especially not him. Especially not him. _Calm down, Adeline. Get control of yourself. You know you can't call the police. You don't remember what's even happened. And definitely not Sherlock Holmes or John Watson. There was one other choice._

Adeline wiped off her hands, throwing the towel in a trashbag and reaching for the bleach at the same time. Her head punded as she went through the steps. The trashbag was tied up and her focus turned to cleaning. She cleansed the sink of all DNA evidence and took deep breaths. Taking in the smell of lemon cleaning materials. "You need to call him. Now." She told herself. Her cellphone was still on the power jack next to the microwave. "I need you. Now. Please."

"Adeline, what happened?"

"I don't remember. But I can't talk about it over the phone, please... I just need you."

He appeared at her doorstep five minutes later to find the woman in pieces. "Addy. What's wrong?" She managed to close the doors behind her. "Calm yourself down." His arms embraced her, leather wrapping around Adeline's body.

"There's dead people in my bedroom. I didn't kill them... but... they're dead... they won't believe me. They won't. Please... make them go away."

"Are you drunk?"

"Slightly."

"Okay... look. Take one of these. When added with alcohol they'll make you forget the events of what happened the night before. I'll get rid of the evidence. Take it with water and go to sleep on the couch okay? It'll be fine." The psychologist shuddered in his arms as she took the pill from him. Slipping it in her mouth without question. Again, Adeline embraced him.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

"No problem." The man kissed her atop the cheek, muttering something inaudible as she departed to the living room.


	6. Eight Bullets

"I called, where were you?"

"None of your fucking **concern,** Holmes. Now get out of my office.'

"Your clothes smell like bleach, either you just murdered someone or you spilled wine on yourself last night and decided to clean it out but faded your clothes because you were drunk." She sighed, playing off the deduction wasn't normal for her though. There was usually some annoying retort. Not that he cared. Adeline's hair had been pulled up, her natural waves cascading down her back in an unprofessional manner. She picked her pen. Beginning to write things down. "Why do I have a feeling you're writing down thing about me, Ms. Vaux?"

"Possibly because I am, Mr Holmes. It is my job to conduct research on the mentally insane." Her voice was calloused, not wanting to talk to the man anymore than she needed to.

"Fair enough, but does that mean you've done research on yourself as well?"

 _ **/Mr Latham dead. Mrs Latham dead. Have fun. :)-JM**_

Adeline gulped as she put up her phone. "Lestrade just texted, there's been a double homicide. Coming?"

"Yes, I just need my coat."

* * *

Mr. Latham and Mrs. Latham had met at PTSD counceling, Adeline had gotten them set up together. Now, she was looking at two corpses with guns in their hands. Presumably guns they had aimed at each other. It was obvious that neither one of them had committed suicide. This one was slightly sloppier than the last murder. Clear signs of struggle around their necks and their apartment. There was something unsettlingly familiar scent about the place, like something she had smelled from her childhood. "What's that smell?"

"Crayon?"

"Melted wax."

"Melted rubber." The psychologist corrected the both of them, directing their gazes to the fore place. There seemed to be an overwhelming amount of ash for the summertime. Adeline clawed through the ash first, flakes crumbling through her fingers as she worked, finding the remains of a gun in the fireplace. "It was a gun made from a three dimensional printer, good enough to shoot them both. The rest is just posed."

"The killer threw the gun away to get rid of the evidence, no forensic evidence would be left afterwards." Sherlock took the pieces from her and examined them himself. Some cognitive function that she didn't possess was at work, going over the type of gun it was, who could've held it and the trajectory at which they were killed. "Interesting, clever. There's no real way to tell who the killer is without forensic evidence or video surveillance footage but they did come in through the front door, shot the cat, four times. Four bullets to begin the overheating process of the gun. Once to the head for Mrs Latham and once in the head for Mr Latham. Then they buried the gun in firewood and oil, lit it up and moved out. Any idea who their enemies might have been, Ms Vaux?"

"No. The Lathams were very private people. The only person the mentioned having was their mothers but, I highly doubt that it would be either one because Mrs Latham's mother is dead and Mr Latham's mother is blind." The detective cursed under his breath. Possibilities eliminated from his mind.

"I'll get back to you on this, Lestrade." Adeline and John were left in the dust.

* * *

 _The lights in the room were dim, causing the blaring white of the TV screen to make the woman dizzy. 'Hello,' it read. The woman cried as she struggled with her bonds, trying to make sense of her surroundings. 'Do not struggle. This will be over as soon as you comply.' She didn't listen. The needles that were pricked ever so slightly into her shoulders and stomach made it very hard to concentrate. When her struggling got too strenuous and annoying for her captor, they zapped her. A painful jolt of electricity and high pitched screeching sound subdued her. 'Did you not read what I said? Comply. Kill. Deceive. Comply. Kill. Deceive. Comply. Kill Deceive. Only then will you be properly satisfied.'_


End file.
